


The Host

by markiboss (purplelly)



Category: Septiplier - Fandom, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Childhood Friends, Horror, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 16:24:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7229881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplelly/pseuds/markiboss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>assbutt-of-the-readers asked: What about Mark and Jack are hanging out and mark feels Dark start to come out but it's much faster than normal? And like it happens while they're visiting an old house Mark used to live in. They're out in the middle of the woods with no one around while they look for an old tree house Mark build with his dad? They can be together or not, that's up to you. I was just thinking childhood friends who still hang out revisiting old memories or something like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Host

**Author's Note:**

> Since people were having trouble reading the fic on tumblr format, it now has an AO3 link! I hope this works better for you all!!!

He met Jack when he was six.

Mark had been riding his bike on the sidewalk. His mother watched from the porch, his brother drawing in a sketchbook beside her. For ten minutes, Mark had been trying to convince Thomas to join him, but his older brother adamantly refused, to the amusement of their mother.

With a huff, Mark drove in circles on the sidewalk, kicking up dirt and leaves behind him. He came to a stop and prepared to yell again, for Tom to join him or he won’t ever play with him again, when he spotted a kid down the road. The kid had on a bright green shirt, and Mark probably wouldn’t have spotted them if they wore something else. The kid had their arms out and their feet oddly angled, and they seemed to glide down the sidewalk. Mark squinted his eyes, trying hard to see why the kid walked so weird.

Then the kid yelled out, his feet slipping from under him. For a moment, he reminded Mark of a cartoon character, his arms splayed out and running in place. Then the kid fell forward, hard, and let out a painful sob.

Mark didn’t think twice before he got off the bike and bolted down the road. The kid had sat up, and Mark can see it was a boy, not much older than himself. He wore roller blades, but now one was laying on the sidewalk and he was struggling to take the other one off.

There were bleeding scrapes on both his knees, and his hands had pebbles stuck in his palms.

Mark knelt down beside the boy. “Do you want help?”

The boy looked up with wide, teary eyes. He hiccuped. “Y-Yeah.”

Mark helped untie the roller blade from the boy’s foot. “I’m Mark.”

The boy sniffed. “I’m Jack.”

“My mom has cool band-aids,” Mark said. “They have the Ninja Turtles on them.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Mark nodded. “Want one for your boo-boo?”

Jack nodded furiously, and Mark held a hand out for him. After Jack picked up his roller blades, Mark led him by the hand back to his house.

His mother was already heading towards them on the sidewalk, Tom in her grip by her side. She looked relieved to see Mark.

“Mark! Don’t wander off like that!” She scolded. 

“Sorry,” Mark said. “But Jack needs a band-aid.”

His mom took one look at the sniffling boy beside Mark and her face softened.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go get one. Come back on the porch, Tom, watch them, I’ll be right back.” She led them back onto the porch and went inside.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked Jack.

“I got scrapes,” Jack pointed to his knees. 

“Ow,” Tom said. 

Mark was looking down the road. “Where’s your mom?”

“Uhh,” Jack thought, his nose scrunching up. “Inside, I think. My sister was helping me roller-blade, but she left.”

Their mom came back with a small cardboard box. The Ninja Turtles were printed on the side of it. She stuck a band-aid on each of Jack’s knees as he smiled.

“We should probably take you home, now,” Mom said. 

“Already?” Mark whined. 

“His mom is probably worried, disappearing like that,” She gave her own son a sharp look. Mark offered a shy smile.

“We’ll walk you back home,” She smiled at Jack and he tentatively smiled back. 

They walked Jack home, but it was not the last time Mark ever saw the boy. After they first met, they often met up again, and this lasted for many years.

Other than his own family, the closest person to Mark was Jack. Because of this, their families became just as close. They were friends with each other’s siblings, their parents were even friends. Holidays were spent at either house, the children playing together - seven in total - while the parents watched and chatted. The perfect neighbors.

When they were twelve, their fathers banded together - and, by extension, all the children - and built a tree house in the woods that backed the Fischbach house. It wasn’t a big thing, it could probably fit half the children at one time, but it became a prominent in the children’s lives, especially Mark and Jack.

It sat on top of an oak, in between large, arching branches. It had a slanted, two-by-four roof, with an opening underneath that the trunk lead into. Small pieces of boards were nailed to the trunk to act like a ladder. One wall of the tree house, opposite of the ladder, opened up to a knotted rope hanging from a stiff board. The rope fell a foot short from the ground.

The children who most frequented the tree house was Mark and Jack, probably because they were the youngest in their families. The tree house through out the years were decorated with piles of books, drawings taped to walls, pillows and blankets and toys they sneaked outside and left.

When they were sixteen, the tree house went abandoned, and that was because of a fall out between the two.

Their interests went different ways. Their attitudes changed drastically. It was only a matter of time before they blew up at each other. The fight started with a sarcastic comment and ended with insults as sharp as knives. They avoided each other for all of two months before making up.

It didn’t seem their relationship was the same afterwards, though. Mark seemed to step on eggshells around Jack for a long time, before they settled back into the relaxed, friendly banter they used to have.

They stayed on good terms for a few more years, before college pulled them apart again. They stayed in contact through texts in between classes, or connecting through an X-Box game.

During their first spring break, and after a boring as hell semester, they took the time to go back home. They found that seeing each other in person is better than through a screen.

In their excitement, they decided on a whim that spending the night in their forgotten tree house seemed like a brilliant idea. Packed with blankets and pillows and their mothers watching their backs with uncertainty, they traveled through the woods behind the Fischbach house and searched for the tree house.

—-

There was a pressure in the very back of his head. He felt it this morning, and he felt it all day, and he felt it throb with every word that spilled from his mouth. He had the feeling of being watched with every movement.

And he’s felt this before. Many times, before.

He’s never told Jack.

—-

The first time he saw _him_ , he probably was only a few years old. He found a wall-length mirror in his parents’ bathroom. It took him a little while to figure out it was him reflected in it; it took him longer to find out it was quite the opposite.

His reflection waved when his hands were at his sides. His reflection grinned when he was sucking his thumb. His eyes were…strange.

This strange reflection that was him but not really him stuck around until he could describe what he saw to his parents. Let’s say their reaction caused him to stay quiet about what he saw for a long time.

Yet, he continued to see his reflection move on its own. All through his life, in fact. Occasional little grins, a friendly wave, or a strange flicker in his eyes.

As he got older, he noticed that, out of the corner of his eye, he sometimes saw a dark figure, watching. He can never look at the thing directly, only in the very edge of his vision.

The truth was this thing scared him. It scared his parents if he brought it up, he even scared his brother when he tried confiding with him. He certainly never brought it up again.

The first time he _felt_ him, felt the pressure at the base of his skull, felt it throb behind his eyes, he didn’t think it was anything but a headache.

Then the argument happened. Jack had made a sarcastic comment that drove directly into Mark’s nerves, and Mark replied more snappily than he probably should have. One thing led to another, and it ended with a door slammed in Mark’s face and words driving deep into wounds.

It was the night of that dreadful fight when the pressure seemed to stretch his skull. His felt his very head was going to explode. It felt like it did, for a moment - his ears popped and his head felt like it was deflating like a balloon. There was a brief period of relief - and then nothing.

What followed was something that haunts Mark. He woke up - an entire day later. To his point of view, he had slept an entire day. But when asking his brother the next morning, Thomas had given him a strange look and said he’d been out of the house all day yesterday. The statement made chills go up Mark’s spine.

He hasn’t felt the pressure for a long time afterwards. Not until he went to college, far far away from anyone he could have told.

He’s woken up missing days. Multiple. And he couldn’t remember a damn thing he did. He attended class, apparently, because he’s found notes he couldn’t remember taking. He’s worn clothes he doesn’t remember wearing. He’s had conversations with people he doesn’t remember having.

And the worst part–

_The worst part–_

_Don’t think about it–_

He knows its his Other Self. His reflection that smiles and waves. The figure he can just barely see. And he doesn’t know why this Other Him wants his body. He doesn’t know what he does (he has an idea).

But Mark does know that this Other Self is getting stronger. The last time he’s blacked out, he was out for as long as four days. That’s the longest he’s ever been out. The longest his Other Self has taken control.

( _And the things it does–_ )

He felt the pressure again the day he went home. For some odd reason, Mark had an idea in his head that when Jack was around, his Other Self would stay away.

Oh dear, how wrong he was.

—-

The pressure was both an unbearable pain and a relief. Mark knew that when he felt the pressure dwindle, when he felt that pause of relief, that his Other Self has taken over. So he wills and wishes and hopes that he has to deal with the pressure, even if it’s the entirety of Spring break, before his Other Self makes an appearance. If it happens around Jack…

As much as he was excited about the sleepover in their old tree house, nothing could be worse at the moment. But Jack was beaming - he was obviously happy about being home again. He was excited to see Mark again. It would be a crime to disappoint him.

And so he begrudgingly carried a mountain of blankets while Jack had the pillows, and together they searched for their forlorn tree house.

They eventually found it, still in tact and still settled in between the oak branches. The wood was a little greener now, but the ladder was still nailed to the trunk and the rope still dangled from the side.

Jack ran up to the ladder and peered up. “You think all our shit is still up there? What books did we leave here again?” He suddenly gasped. “Our radio! My music might still be up there!” He attempted to hurry up the ladder while carrying the pillows, a feat that cause one to slip in his grip and fall into a pile of leaves.

Mark laughed, and Jack stuck his tongue out at him. He picked up the pillow and attempted to brush stray leaves off. Mark chose a wiser route and bundled the blankets in one arm before attempting to climb up.

He tossed the pillows through the hole in the tree house floor before climbing inside. Looking around, he was hit with a wave of nostalgia.

There was the distinct smell of old wood, and every step Mark took was greeted with an agonizing creak. And yet, it didn’t seem like one thing had changed.

Old, dusty books and magazines were piled in one corner. Jack’s old radio and CDs were in another. Their drawings were still taped up to the walls, and Mark spotted a couple crayons shoved in the cracks in the boards. The tape on one of the drawings failed to stick, and it laid at Mark’s feet.

It was a simple drawing of their tree house, circa when Mark was much younger. He saw himself drawn in red crayon, and Jack drawn in green. A frown creased his face when he saw a bundle of shadows behind the great oak tree the house resided on.

He doesn’t remember drawing it. And even thought it’s perfectly reasonable to forget the day he drew a picture, especially since it was years ago, it still reminded him of the pressure in his head. The backs of his eyes throbbed.

“Mark! You still up there?” 

He snapped out of his thoughts. Tossing the blankets to the side, Mark looked back down the ladder.

“Toss the pillows up,” Mark said. 

Jack tossed him the four pillows, one by one, before climbing up. He had to stop and survey the tree house as well. Watching him, Mark could see the memories flash past Jack’s eyes.

“I missed this,” Jack said, a soft grin on his face. 

“I did, too,” Mark said.

Then Jack took a step forward. His gaze was directly on the rope.

“Jack,” Mark said. 

“Mark,” Jack replied. He grinned wide as he gripped the rope stained green. 

“You’re gonna break your neck,” Mark said. 

“Nah,” Jack brushed him off. He looked down at the ground below, and gripping the rope, stepped off the edge of the tree house. 

The rope held surprisingly strong. Jack climbed down the rope until he reached the thickly knotted end, where he swung back and forth. He yelled out triumphantly.

Mark laughed from above. Jack grinned up at him. He attempted to climb back up the rope, but his hands slid. He laughed.

“I’ll have to take the ladder. Don’t use the rope until you wanna come down,” Jack laughed. He jumped off the rope and disappeared down below.

Mark walked over to the pile of books and magazines. He saw a variety of music magazines - a couple with girls plastered on the covers, damn his teenage years - and books that he remembered being bed time stories. He recognized the _Magic Tree House_ series, a few of the _Harry Potter_ books, and others he’s fond of.

He has started to sort through the CDs when Jack climbed back into the tree house. He joined Mark with barely restrained child-like excitement.

“I haven’t listened to these guys in forever!” Jack practically squealed. 

“Are those your heavy-metal bands you liked so much?” Mark asked. 

“Yeah!” Jack said. “But not just that, these guys don’t play anymore! And I couldn’t find digital copies anywhere! These are practically the only ones in existence!”

Mark laughed. “I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jack said. He reached to turn on the radio, only to frown at the unresponsiveness. It’s a battery-run radio, and after almost a decade, it would have been a miracle had it turned on.

“Damn,” Jack pouted.

Mark wrapped an arm around him. “It’s okay. Tomorrow we can blast it on one of the working radios back home.”

Jack smiled at him, leaning into his touch. “I’d like that. Thanks.” He met Mark’s eyes and his breath seemed to hitch slightly.

Their faces were really, _really_ close. Mark didn’t realize that when he had put his arm around Jack. Now it became clear, their bodies pressed flush together, and now Mark can’t look away from the stunning blue eyes in front of him.

They both had started to lean in, whether it was a conscious action or not. But Mark was forced to turn away when a sharp pain lanced across the backs of his eyes.

He let out a hiss and squeezed his eyes shut. He brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked, and Mark felt him place a hand on his chest. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark nodded, then flinched. “Just a headache. Perfect timing.” He hadn’t meant to say the last part aloud, and when he did, his face flushed red.

Jack was just as red, but he was smiling, and that put Mark at ease.

The pain reminded Mark of the constant pressure in his skull. It felt like a warning. The Other was watching, it wasn’t in control, but it could _see_.

He had to tell Jack. Warn him, at least.

Withdrawing his arm from around Jack’s shoulders, Mark took a deep breath. “Jack, I have to tell you something.”

Jack’s smile faltered slightly. “About what?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Mark began. “There’s this… _entity_ in my head.” 

Jack’s smile left completely and was replaced by extreme confusion.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Mark said. “But for as long as I can remember I could see this…other me. My reflection would move. I could see something out of the corner of my eye, following me. And..I’ve blacked out. For days.” 

He paused. Jack was watching with a mixture of concern and confusion, and he wished he could make it clearer. He took a breath and continued.

“You remember the fight we had? Years and years ago?” At Jack’s nod, he continued. “I had a headache that day. And when I went to sleep, it disappeared. But I can’t remember any of the next day. It was like I slept through it.” He sighed. “You remember that car that was found a couple days after our fight that had the windshield kicked in? All the windows were broken, someone took a key and tore up the seats and the paint. The lights were kicked in. It was destroyed, and they never found out who did.” His leg shook with his nerves. “ When I woke up the day after, I found a crowbar under my bed and glass shards in the bottoms of my shoes.” 

Jack’s eyes widened. He took a long moment to think. “You…did it?”

“I can’t remember,” Mark said. “The Other me did it, I think. I don’t know how.” His fingers tapped his knee. “There’s more.”

Jack wasn’t arguing. He looked like he wanted to, he looked confused and Mark could see questions forming in his mind, but he stayed quiet, allowing Mark to talk.

“For the past few months, while I was away in college, it’s happened. Three different times. The first was just a day. I found a silver watch that wasn’t mine on my bedside table. The second time was two days. A guy walked up to me while I was on my way to class and demanded we fight for what happened yesterday. He was escorted away, but I never found out what I did to him. The third,” He took a shaky breath. “The third was four days. I walked out my front door to find dead birds and squirrels on my doorstep. There was dried blood on my hands.” 

Jack’s face has significantly paled. His mouth opened and closed as he thought of what to say.

“You’re being serious,” Jack asked more than stated, and Mark nodded. “How come I haven’t been told this before?”

Mark laughed, but it was a bitter laugh. “I’ve tried telling my parents. Imagine their reaction when a five year old tells them his reflection waved to him.”

Jack swallowed. “Uh…Why bring it up now?” His eyes widened as he made the connection. “You think it’s gonna happen out here.”

Mark nodded. He could feel the pressure, stronger than it was before, along with pain across his skull, like whatever wanted out was preparing to burst through his head.

“Well,” Jack said. “What do we do? Go home?”

Mark opened his mouth to reply, but his words died in his throat. All at once, the pain suddenly disappeared, and the pressure started to deflate like a balloon with a needle-sized hole.

“You got to leave,” Mark said, hurriedly. “It’s coming on now, and you have to leave. I’ll stay here so you don’t get hurt.”

Jack shook his head. “Mark, I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m not going to leave you.”

If the hole was needle-sized, it grew to be a golf ball. This has never happened while he was with someone, and with Jack of all people. The pressure was deflating, and with it, his vision began to darken.

“You need…need to go,” Mark trailed off. His head slumped forward, and the last thing he saw was Jack’s worried face. 

—-

Jack had no fucking idea what to do.

Mark was passed out in his arms. They were inside a tree house. Jack was far from the physical capabilities needed to carry big buff Markimoo back home.

He was debating what to do when he heard Mark’s chest rumble from laughter. Slowly, he lifted his head up with a wide grin that made Jack uneasy.

“Sorry,” Mark laughed, and Jack didn’t like his voice. It was different than a moment ago. “Your face, though. Priceless.”

Jack, still seated on the dusty floor, crawled backwards, away from Mark (or whoever that is).

“Where are you going?” Mark asked, an eyebrow raised. “Did I scare you too much?”

Jack shook his head, the only way he thought to respond. He might have decided to say something else, but when he reached his hand back as he crawled, it met air. His eyes widened as his body fell out the one side of the tree house without a wall.

Panic crawled up his throat. Jack tore a the green rope flying past him, but his hands slipped past his fingers.

He thumped to the ground with a groan. Pain lanced up his shoulders; he was sure he landed on a tree root. His hands stung with rope burn.

“Jack? Are you okay?”

Jack opened his eyes to see Mark climbing down the rope towards him. He looked genuinely worried.

Jack cleared his throat. “Yeah, I think so.”

Mark jumped to the ground beside him and held a hand out. Jack, after a moment of hesitation, grabbed it.

“You just made all that up?” Jack asked, and felt a spark of anger. 

“Sorry,” Mark shrugged. “I got nervous. We were about to kiss and I panicked.” 

Jack immediately felt his face flush. The spark he felt flickered out and he bit his lip.

Mark stepped closer. “Do you mind if we try again?”

Jack should have been put off by the lack of nervousness. He should be put off the bluntness. But he really, really wanted to try again.

It was like Mark could sense his want. He stepped forward and lifted a hand to cup Jack’s cheek. His breath hitched, and it was Mark who leaned in.

When their lips connected, Jack’s shoulders relaxed. He’s imagined this moment many times, ever since he realized he might be in love with his best friend. And now here he was. Their lips were certainly locked together, but it didn’t feel much like the electricity, the fireworks he’d thought it’d be.

Mark’s thumb rubbed against Jack’s cheek, but he felt more like spiders had crawled across his skin. Mark’s hand slipped from his cheek to the base of his throat. Mark’s other hand was placed on the small of Jack’s back.

Jack thought about pulling away. But honestly, he’s dreamed of this moment too many times to give it up now.

He definitely considered pulling away when Mark’s hand lifted so it wrapped around his throat. He wanted to pull away when Mark’s hand tightened and his air was cut off.

Mark was the one who pulled away, with a wide, toothy grin. With strength Jack didn’t know Mark possessed, he lifted Jack off the ground. Mark’s fingers screwed into the muscles and tendons in Jack’s throat. Little, whimpered noises escaped from his mouth as he struggled like a caught fish.

“You were more stupid than I thought,” Mark said, but Jack realized that does not sound like Mark at all, it’s deeper and more gravelly, it makes Jack’s skin crawl.

“Mark was telling the truth, you know,” Mark - _whoever it is_ \- said. “I should be glad you were so gullible. And sickeningly in love, oh god. It was making me sick watching you two gaze at each other all lovey-dovey.” His grin stretched. “It would be an honor to rip your throat out right now.”

Jack was struggling. He knew he was in trouble the moment Mark’s fingers tightened around his throat. His lungs hurt. It was this _Thing_ making a promise, the promise to rip his throat, to kill him, made him swing back his legs and kick where he could reach.

He tried to aim his kick at the other’s crotch, the only place that came to mind that was a person’s weakness, but he could hit that high and ended up nailing Mark in the knee.

His leg jutted out to the side, and the thing possessing Mark’s body let out an outraged roar. His grip loosened and Jack fell to the ground. He did not hesitate before turning and bolting into the woods.

Jack ran for as long as he could, and it was a full minute of blind running when he realized he had no idea where he was.

There were trees around him. That’s all he could see.

For as much time in their childhood as they spent in these woods, Jack doesn’t think they went farther than the tree house. These woods were unfamiliar.

He looked around, trying to spot movement. He expects Mark to appear at any moment. But the woods around him are quiet.

No - were those leaves crunching? Was someone approaching? He couldn’t see anyone. Is that the wind?

There was a loud crack from somewhere. In such an open space it seemed to echo around him. Jack guessed it came from behind him, but a moment later he decided it was from his left. He crouched low, mimicking what he’s seen sneaking characters do in video games and hopes his footsteps are silent. The way the leaves crackle under his feet made his heart leap into his throat. He’s too loud in these silent woods.

He crawled for another solid minute, stopping every once in a while to listen. He expected to hear footsteps creeping up behind him. He never heard anything.

It finally clicked in his head that Jack has to find a way out of the woods. He focused so much on being quiet he never thought about where he was going.

Jack figured if he needed to find his way back home, he needed to know which direction it is. He stopped below an oak - or was it a maple? - and looked up. He’s climbed trees plenty when he was younger, but he hasn’t tried to do so in at least a decade. Still, he braced himself, and jumped up to the first branch.

His palms stung, and he was reminded of the rope burn on his hands. He ignored it and attempted to pull himself up.

At the end of the school year, the school Mark and Jack attended had mandatory gym tests. The scuttle test, the pacer test, the push up test, sit up test, and the pull up test. All them sucked ass and Jack wasn’t good at any. He was as weak as a noodle in high school.

The pull up test was his least favorite, despite his love for climbing trees. Hold your head up above a metal bar for as long as you can. The longest he held himself up was ten seconds.

His arms ached like they did in the gym test. Jack kicked his feet up against the trunk of the tree and attempted to swing one leg over the branch.

His first attempt his heel hit the branch and missed. It fell back to dangle below him.

His second attempt he hooked his foot over the branch. Jack pulled harder than he ever did on the pull up test and he felt his body begin to swing onto the branch.

Something grabbed the back of his hoodie and pulled him to the ground.

Jack yelped in surprise and for the second time he fell onto the ground. When he opened his eyes, Mark was grinning down at him.

There was a two-foot long thick branch in his fist.

“You know, a little game of tag is always fun,” Mark - _the Other_ , as Mark had called it - placed the thickest end of the branch aside Jack’s head. “But I always enjoy golf as well.”

Jack’s breath hitched as Mark held the branch above his head like an experienced golfer. Without waiting for Mark to make a move, he rolled to the side and placed his hands behind his head like he’s seen in awareness videos on how to protect yourself from an earth quake.

He felt the whip of wind as Mark swung the branch past him. Jack hastily stood up, tripping over his own two feet as he sprinted into a run. He could hear Mark running behind him, his feet pounding into the ground.

Jack didn’t bother looking back. The stomping footsteps grew closer to him, until he was sure Mark was within arm’s reach. He expected to be grabbed at any moment.

Then - silence. Nothing. The only footsteps Jack heard was his own.

Jack’s pace slowed to a walk. He risked looking behind him. Nothing but the wind tossing a few leaves up in the air.

Jack came to a complete stop. He held his breath as he listened. It was as if Mark disappeared into thin air.

But he couldn’t have. He was _right here_. Possessed by some otherworldly being or not, a flesh-and-blood human could not just disappear.

Hesitantly, Jack turned and took slow, careful steps, listening intently to the world around him.

When Mark appeared, he couldn’t move fast enough to dodge the branch aiming for his head.

The thing had jumped out from behind a tree with a manic grin, branch raised above his head and swinging before Jack could react.

The next thing Jack was that he was laying on his back. Pain blossomed somewhere above his left eyebrow. He felt a warm trickle of something run down the side of his face.

For a moment, he could not open his eyes. He felt dizzy and sick and could not coordinate his limbs properly. Something grabbed him by the collar of his sweatshirt and pulled him off the ground.

His eyes cracked open enough to see Mark _really_ close to his face.

“Hey buddy,” Mark said. “That was too easy, and the day’s barely over. We still have the whole night! So, let’s make a deal, yeah?” 

His hand around Jack’s collar shook, and Jack’s head bobbed up and down.

“Great! Glad we’re on the same page.” Jack wanted Mark to be quiet for one fucking second. His head was _pounding_. “I’ll let you wake up a little, and when you’re ready, we’ll continue this game, okay?” He shook Jack again. His head bobbed and Jack wanted to throw up. 

“Fantastic,” Mark said, and then Jack was dropped back on the ground. He groaned as the pain in his head skyrocketed. 

He heard Mark laugh. “Your head hurts? Oh, that’s nothing! Imagine what _I_ feel like inside this idiot’s head!” He was laughing joyfully when he walked away, until Jack was left in complete silence, but he didn’t trust the quiet, not anymore.

Jack buried his head in his arms as he willed the pain to go away. It was not only inside his head, but on the outside as well. His head was still bleeding - above his eyebrow. Right? He wasn’t sure.

He doesn’t know how long he stayed still, but when he felt the headache had gone away a little, he finally forced himself into a sitting position. Jack took inventory of himself.

He did indeed have a cut above his eyebrow. It was bleeding, he felt it down his face, but it had since slowed. The blood on his face was gummy.

He found blood dripping from his left ear as well. Jack remembered something he read a while ago, something that said this meant he had a concussion. He’s not surprised. It _felt_ like a concussion.

He put a hand up on a tree and used it to help him stand. He felt slightly better - granted, his face was covered in blood, his head hurt, but he was conscious and walking, and that’s all he could ask for. Now he needs to figure out what to do.

He remembered what Mark had told him. He would give him time to recover, and when he felt better their game could resume.

His first thought was the _Hunger Games_ and he really shouldn’t have thought of it. First Mark’s possessed, now Tracker Jackers are going to be on his ass.

_Focus, Jack, focus._

Jack needed to get to the tree house. He had no idea where he was, but it’s easy to find home if the starting point was the tree house.

He’d decided that was a good idea, before another problem became glaringly clear - he needed to _find_ the tree house.

This situation was so _stupid_ and _frustrating_ he wanted to scream. But screaming would make his head hurt more.

Jack looked up at the trees above him. The sky was darkening. He wouldn’t be able to see much longer.

_That was too easy, and the day’s barely over. We still have the whole night!_

He needed to hurry.

His plan about climbing the trees did not work. Jack didn’t want to be sneaked up on again. But that left him with no plan on how to get to the tree house.

A snap echoed through the wood. Jack jumped and listened.

Another snap. Jack could pin point it somewhere to his right, but more behind him. He turned that direction and stared hard.

The snaps - Jack associated them as more like cracks, now - continued without pattern. Jack sucked in a breath and lowered into a crouch. He crawled slowly in that direction.

The sounds continued, never failing to make Jack jump. He kept his breathing even, tried to step softly, tried to be as silent as be can.

He nearly laughed in relief when the tree house came into view. His laughter stopped short in his throat at the sight of Mark.

He was facing the tree house. Half the boards nailed to the trunk were ripped off and laying in odd places all over the ground. As Jack watched, Mark grabbed one of the nailed boards and pulled. With a loud crack, the board gave way, and Mark tossed it aside.

The branch wasn’t anywhere in sight. No, wait - Jack could see it leaning against the big oak.

As Mark grabbed another board, Jack noticed he was humming, and he recognized the song. It was one he left inside the tree house. Only Mark had listened to those songs with him.

No, no. The _real_ Mark would never act like this. Never try to kill him. Never have so much fun doing it. Jack will save Mark. He’s not leaving. He’ll figure out a way.

Mark tore the final board off the trunk. Whistling a tune, Mark swung the branch over his shoulder and wandered in a seemingly random direction.

The minute he was out of sight, Jack didn’t waste any time. He took to a sprint towards the tree house. He grabbed the rope, and ignoring the rope burn still adorning his hands, he climbed up.

His hands slipped once, twice. For a second Jack worried he wouldn’t be able to pull himself up. He briefly wondered if he should just try to run home, abandon Mark out here and eventually come back when that thing stops possessing him.

“ _Jack~_ Where did you _go_?”

The smooth voice wrapped around him like a suffocating fog. Fear gave him the strength he needed. His hands gripped tightly around the rope and despite the achy fatigue in his arms, he climbed up with speed that surprised even him.

Jack all but threw himself inside the tree house. In the distance, he could see a figure heading toward him. He hastily grabbed the rope and pulled it inside the tree house.

He held onto the rope in a white-knuckle fist as he listened.

“So you want to play hide-and-seek? I’m up for it. But there’s a problem.”

Jack heard the _crunch-crunch_ of footsteps directly below him. He held his breath.

“You’re not very good at hiding, Jack.”

The footsteps stopped somewhere beneath the tree house. Jack tightened his grip, if that was possible at this point, and charged for the opening.

When his feet hit the air, his teeth clacked together, and the board holding th rope up creaked with the sudden weight. His first instinct was to scream and pull his knees up, but he forced himself to direct the swing to where he saw Mark standing.

In his head, he pictured himself swinging down the tree house with his feet out, kicking Mark square in the chest and knocking him out cold. He’d land in a neat roll and be the Hero that saved Mark and all of humanity.

But really, he wasn’t that awesome. Instead of kicking Mark, he rather just collided into him, knocking the breath out of both of them.

Mark fell backwards, and Jack did too, the rope dangling over his face as if mocking him. He swatted at it before hurrying to stand.

He first noticed Mark was weaponless. In fact, the branch - was that blood drying in the bark? - was laying a few feet away. Mark was already starting to stand, and had his eyes on it.

Jack did not hesitate to run over. He picked up the smaller end of the branch (the _cleaner_ end) and held it in a batter’s position.

“Don’t get any closer,” He warned.

Mark stopped, putting his hands up in front of him. He seemed amused. “Or what?”

“I’ll fuckin’ smash your brains in is what,” Jack spit, hoping it sounded like a real threat. His hands were shaking. 

Mark burst into laughter. “You’ll…smash _my_ brains in? Oh dear, did you forget who this body belongs to?”

“If I take him down you’ll go with him,” Jack hissed through his teeth.

Mark’s grin looked too wide and unnatural. His lips seemed to stretch so far, far enough they were no longer pink but a stressed white. Even from a distance, Jack could count Mark’s teeth with the wideness of his grin.

“You think so?” He spoke, and his voice was indistinguishable from Mark’s. “You _really_ think so? I don’t think so. I think I’ve been around for a long, long time, and just because _this_ host body fails me, there’s about…” He counted his fingers as he whispered numbers under his breath. “Over seven billion other hosts I could potentially take.”

Jack swallowed. The Thing seemed proud of himself. He took two lumbering steps forward with his hand outstretched, reaching for the branch.

Jack reacted as any normal person would when a demonic humanoid is approaching. He swung the branch as hard as he could.

It promptly smacked the Thing across the face. He was knocked to the ground a second time. When he sat back up, he was wiping away a stream of blood running down his nose.

“You _do_ have it in you,” He laughed, like he was proud.

Jack swung again, directly on the top of the Thing’s head. This time, when he fell back, he did not get up.

For a cold, terrifying moment, Jack worried he killed him. But, no - his chest moved up and down with slow breaths. He was unconscious.

Heaving heavy breaths, Jack gripped the branch and leaned against the thick oak tree.

—-

As he came to, he realized he was really, really sore.

Mark lifted his head, emitting a low groan as every movement was protested. It felt like his entire face had been used as a soccer ball.

Opening his eyes, he was startled to find he couldn’t see anything. Wait - he could make out dark shapes. He was inside somewhere, and there was an opening beside him. The stars shone from outside. He was in the tree house.

_He was in the tree house–_

Everything came back to him. His headache - he passed out - and–

He couldn’t move. Something bound his arms tightly to his sides. His breathing picked up as he felt panic rise in his throat.

A yell was on the tip of his tongue when a sigh echoed in the empty space around him. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Will you _please_ just be quiet for one minute? A single minute. That’s all I’m asking. My head is killing me. Thanks to you.”

The voice was tired. It croaked with every syllable. It was also annoyed. But mostly undeniably familiar.

“…Jack?” Mark asked the air.

There was a moment of silence. Then a scoff.

“I don’t want to do this shit again,” Jack said, and he sounded so _defeated_. “So just shut the hell up until the sun comes back up, yeah?”

“Jack, what happened?” Mark insisted. “What did…the _other_ me do?”

Jack yawned. “Four days.”

“What?”

“Mark said you’ve been in control for four days, at the longest,” Jack said. “So, we’ll stay here for four days. Until I have my Mark back.”

Mark shook his head, but it was futile in the dark. “No, no, no Jack, I’m right here. He - It - it’s gone. Or, not here right now. Please.”

There was a beat. Then a light blinded him. Mark flinched. The light bobbed up and down as Jack walked closer.

Mark could only see the light - he determined from a phone - but anything behind it is just dark. A hand reached past the light and the knuckles brushed his cheek.

The contact reminded him of his throbbing face. He flinched involuntarily and let out a hiss.

“What the hell happened to my face?” He asked.

The flashlight was shifted, just slightly, but it revealed Jack’s face. Mark gaped at the sight of blood caking the left sight of Jack’s face. An open wound above his eyebrow was scabbed over - how long ago did that happen?

“What the hell happened to _your_ face?” Mark restated himself. He wanted to reach a hand up, but both were pinned to his sides.

Jack looked surprised by his outburst, then let out a breathless laugh. “Oh, it’s _you_ \- I hope it’s you, or else I’m completely fucking up here.”

Jack’s hand cupped his cheek and the flashlight was set aside as Jack enveloped Mark with a hug.

“Jack, I’m kinda tied up here,” Mark said. 

“Right, right,” Jack said. “But, before we do that, I want to test one more thing.” 

He placed his hands on either sides of Mark’s face. Mark’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. Then Jack kissed him.

If anything, that was the last thing he expected. And yet, despite his shock, Mark couldn’t help but relax into the kiss.

Funny. He’d imagined this moment so many times, this is the place he’d least likely thought it would happen.

When Jack pulled away, he had a satisfied smile on his face. Mark blinked to refocus himself.

“What…was that?” Mark asked.

“Just a test. I’ll explain later,” Jack promised.

His hands gripped the rope tied around Mark and began to untangle it. Mark could feel it loosened around him and he rubbed at the imprints left in his arms. How long had he been tied up?

The light from the phone’s flashlight illuminated enough around them so Mark could see Jack. He again gazed at the dried blood down his face.

“I did that,” Mark stated more than asked.

Jack shook his head. “Whatever that thing that possessed you did.”

“I’m sorry,” Mark said. 

“More of a warning would’ve been nice,” Jack suggested. “But still, it wasn’t you. And I think I got my revenge.” His thumb brushed lightly across the bridge of Mark’s nose. Mark flinched.

“You caused this massive headache?” Mark asked, rubbing his fingers across his forehead.

“You caused mine first,” Jack teased. 

The statement, despite there being no real heat behind it, made Mark’s face fall. Jack sighed, and pulled the older man into his arms.

“Let’s not talk about it,” Jack said. “At least until the sun comes up.” He paused. “But, uh. Don’t fall asleep. I kinda have a concussion, so I really shouldn’t sleep, and I don’t want to be alone.”

Mark settled his chin on Jack’s shoulder. “No problem. Keep talking, it’ll keep us both awake.”  

And so Jack went on a rant about the new games he’s heard coming out this year, the great games last year, and anything in between. Mark added a comment in every now and then to show he was still awake and listening.

For the time being, the Other was gone. Until Mark felt the familiar pressure in his skull, they were safe. Jack was safe. They’ll figure out what to do.

—-

_the **idiots** are stupidly in love_

_(could work as an **advantage** )_

_the host is **weak,** despite his physique_

_but the other one - **the other one** -_

_he can put up a **good fight**_

_he was a **c̨h̨áĺle̡nge͟**_

_**i̞͈̥̠͡ ̥͓͎͎͓̬l̰̳i͏̹͍̦͕͉̟̺ke̶̞̗̠̥ ͎̥͡c̩̫̰̟̲̻̹ḫ͠a̠̫͈̙l͏͈l̨̞̘̤e̪̝̫͎͜n̮̼g͕̞̀e̦͖̥̩͔̳ͅs̗** _


End file.
